JJ
Nixx sat in my chair like he had never spent months making that chair dangerous.
The shop was closed to everyone except us. My first appointments soon, Stitch’s station was half set up, and the charcoal wall behind Nixx made his skin look warmer beneath the task light.
“Stop moving,” I said.
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re flexing.”
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
His mouth curved.
I adjusted my grip on the machine and went back to the unfinished section along his upper arm. I had started it when Nixx was still only Nixx to me, the biker who sat too comfortably in my chair while somewhere else in my life there was a man named Roy who made me feel safe.
Except there hadn’t been two men. There had only ever been this asshole.
“You know what’s weird?”
“Probably a lot of
